


The Maid and the Butler are Dancing

by imaginationdaydreams



Category: Clue (1985)
Genre: F/M, Hiding, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationdaydreams/pseuds/imaginationdaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wadsworth the butler and Yvette the maid pairing in this prologue to the movie Clue. This is a slightly different take on the movie, but makes for even more murder mystery suspense and back story. Warning: violence and major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mansion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own clue or any of it's characters, all rights go to the original owners and creators.

Deep and empty the sound grew louder. Rhythmic and gaining speed like a rock tumbling down the face of a cliff, my heart beat faster. The fuller your heart is the louder it sounds. I guess you could say mine was pretty full that night. Up above the moon was full and below the ground was full of rain. I was somewhere between the two and felt the weight of the one press down on me and the size of the other keep me in place. Hands curled into fists at my sides, my knuckles turned white as the marble steps I now rocked my heels back and forth on. The steps were cold and solid like the mansion. It loomed in the night air and refused to bend under the weight of the moon's glow. A rap on the door with my fist and it flung open. A man dressed head to toe in black and white beckoned me to say something. "Oh! Hello. My name is Yvette Soleil Bellamont. I am, uh... applying for the position of the maid," I rambled to the proper looking man standing in the doorway. "A maid, not THE maid," he corrected me, "yes, Miss Bellamont, you were expected two minutes ago," he stated bluntly, as he ushered me into the dimly lit hall, "come in, and wait in the parlor. Mr. Boddy will be with you in a moment."

The mansion was even bigger than it had looked from the outside. The purpose of a stately home is to make one feel important and royal. The grand sweeping curves and ceilings made me feel insignificant on this particular day. The marble flooring reflected the gentle dress I was wearing, but glanced the light off of the chandelier into my eyes. I gave a small stumble at the blinding glare, causing the butler to steal a slightly amused glance at my clumsiness before turning to parade down the tragically magnificent hall in the most dignified fashion. The walls were coated in the most elaborate greens and pinks imaginable. The calligraphic swirls embossed on the wallpaper were coated in sweeps of metallic golden paint, and so temped me to reach out and touch its grandeur, that I got lost in my imagination. I nervously sat down on the plush sofa, and folded my hands; awaiting my future employment... or my immediate dismissal.


	2. Beaten to a pulp

"Oh, dear God, please help her!" Wadsworth tumbled into the wine cellar. "Yvette, are you alright? Speak to me Yvette. Yvette... Oh, what have they done to you?" The candle stick he held white-knuckled flickered in the cold, damp drafts and played shadows across my face. "It's all my fault, I never should have... No, they are the ones at fault, not us. Yvette, please speak to me!" He curled over my body in the dark, scooped up underneath my sides, and gently turned me in his arms. It was his luck that Mr. Boddy had such an evil heart as to starve me half to death. Now Wadsworth could easily heft me up and over his shoulder. My limp form hung there in the wine cellar. The chilling temperature created a pinching, painful sensation on our faces. The warmth of his body felt like sunlight to me even through his well made tailcoat. I wanted to hold on to him, to cling to him, to make the task easier, but I couldn't. His footsteps echoed in the dank hallway; the sound bouncing off the stone walls. Up and up the stairs we climbed until we again reached the daylight.

Away he stole me up into the green woods. If he placed me back in my bedroom, Mr. Boddy would certainly have me beaten again and he knew I could not bare anymore. Wadsworth, handsome and kind, looked down at my black eyes and examined the torn corners of my mouth. "No, this is not right. It has to stop," he muttered to himself, as he carried me over the expansive bridge across the tumultuous river. "I will leave you here until nightfall. Then I will come for you when the master is not looking. Stay, Yvette. Please wake up..." He placed me under an overhanging tree by the river; nestling my body into the tall, green grass to hide my wilted form from my attackers. My head rested in his hands for a brief moment as he looked down at my beaten face. Tears welled up in his eyes and his face quivered for my ill safety.

"I will be back for you," he breathed into my hands, "I promise." He looked nearly as sick as I was.

His mind raced with thoughts of rage and anger as he had never experienced before. Heart filled to the brim with disgust he walked as calmly as he could past the study where Mr. Body was smoking an over-priced cigarette and Mrs. Body stood reading a book. Their days looked none the different. It was as if they didn't know I had been down in that cellar. It was as if my death would mean nothing to him. All he could think about was my body cold and bloodied; knife wounds that went clean to the bone.

The staircase in all its grandeur; green and gold velvet with mahogany rails-- His bedroom door, mahogany-- The side-table, mahogany, with the little gun inside with the mahogany grips... Cold and bloodied--

He meant to do it. Mrs. Body's blood soaked the green and gold velvet chair and the books and spilled onto the floor. It was beautiful what mahogany looked like with crimson. Wadsworth had never seen anything so magnificent. Taking the gun with him, he walked out the front door as calmly as he had came in. He passed over the bridge and came to the overhanging tree by the river. "I told you it had to stop," he whispered into my hands as he did before, pressing them to his lips and begging me to wake up. Indeed, I was awake. I was just not able to speak or move. The sun had not quite risen and the cold was still prevalent. His body was warm though, flushed with rage. He shed his coat to my shoulders, and taking his pocket square dampened in the river, gently washed at the dried blood on my legs. The pocket square would never bleach to the same crisp white again. He picked me up and moved me to the edge of the river to wash my feet and raise his hands full of water for me to drink from. It was clean and good water. Nothing had ever tasted so good. He sat on the bank and laid me in his lap. My head rested against his beating chest. Why was the sound so quick? I raised my gaze to meet his. There were a million and one questions to ask, but only one came to mind. "You finally killed them. Didn't you, monsieur?" "I only killed her, darling. Him we still need."

Wadsworth woke soaked in his own sweat, clenching the sheets in his hands.

He couldn't believe it had all been a dream. Of course it was all a dream! He couldn't kill anyone in cold blood. He had never even picked up a gun, much less shot a person. Although he would never admit it, he reasoned that if he ever did, protecting me would be the only reason good enough. Still... murder? He couldn't. He wouldn't. No. He had to get on with his morning and this whole nonsense would go away. On with his morning routine he went folding, tucking, polishing, and arranging. It was at this moment I knocked on his door.

"Monsieur, it is moi, Yvette."

He opened his bedroom door and sighed in relief at the sight of me. "Good morning, miss. Of what may I be of service to you?"

"Mrs. Body would like her coffee without cream this morning. She told me to tell you. She thinks she is getting fat."

"Very well."

I looked past his shoulder, and although he and his room looked tidy and proper as usual, something seemed off. "Are you alright, monsieur?" He glanced at the clock and assured me he was "never better".

The day passed as usual.


End file.
